


Authentic vice

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: The Great Nargothrond Threesome Project [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (ps ao3 the piped tags are bullshit), Anal Sex, Finrod loses his temper, Flashbacks, Huan makes a cameo, I swear it is unrelated to the sex, Incest, M/M, Multi, Nargothrond disaster trio, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod is patient, until he isn’t. Finrod is gentle, until he isn’t.</p><p>Finrod deals with his frustrations in a healthy way – until he doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Authentic vice

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I started this an age ago and it’s languished in my WIPs long enough. Honestly the hardest thing was coming up with something beyond its working title, which was ‘huanglamir’ and which I kept telling myself I _really shouldn’t use_ no matter how much I liked it.

Finrod was not the anxious type.

Usually.

But that was assuming normal circumstances; circumstances that did not include the greatest treasure of his kingdom going missing, practically from his own person. He tried not to rush around; tried not to appear frantic; tried not to flutter, as his sister would say, “like a chicken with its head cut off.” But after an hour of searching, with no sign of the Nauglamír, Finrod was starting to feel ready for a bit of frantic chicken fluttering.

Then he paused, thought a moment, and narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion. He turned on his heel, and stalked down the long hallway to the wing where his cousin’s suites were located.

Finrod was not the angry type.

Usually.

But that was assuming circumstances under which there were not large, blond, kinslaying cousins of his smirking at him from before the fire. That was assuming circumstances under which the greatest treasure of his kingdom was not found, glinting beautifully, around the neck of an unusually big, wise-eyed, and hairy –

“ _Dog._ ” Finrod let out his breath in a hiss, and Celegorm winked at him.

“Suits him, doesn’t it?”

Clenching his teeth, Finrod strode forward, drawing up only when he came within reach of Huan. The dog blinked at him, looking, it had to be said, far more intelligent than anything that big and hairy had any right to.

“Friend Huan,” said Finrod, tightly. “Would you suffer me to approach your noble person and retrieve my possession?”

“I don’t know, cousin,” said Celegorm lazily, from before the fire. “It looks far prettier on him than it does on your scrawny neck.”

Ignoring him, Finrod reached for the clasp of the Nauglamír as Huan lowered his great head, a flicker of what could only be called amusement in his vast golden eyes.

“That said,” Celegorm mused, “I think there are certain things that look quite fetching around your neck. Perhaps you and Huan could switch. He could keep possession of that bauble of yours, and you could wear a leather collar.” His smile, as ever, showed more incisor than was strictly necessary. “A collar and leash, mm, yes. I think it would suit you very well, Ingoldo.”

The Nauglamír hanging heavy and warm from his hand, Finrod turned on his cousin, his temper spiking, not least at how he had so easily been lead into panic. “Don’t you ever shut up?” he snapped. “Do you think yourself clever?”

“Clever? No.” Celegorm stretched ostentatiously, and sprawled more comfortably in front of the fire. “That is my brother’s domain. Everyone knows not to take _me_ seriously. I am but a simple hunter, with simple tastes.”

Finrod let out a tsk of frustration and turned away, starting to fasten the Nauglamír around his throat and giving an exclamation of annoyance as he found a large clump of dog hair tangled in it.

“See?” Celegorm’s slow drawl. “I told you you’d have been better off with the leather collar. With studs, maybe.”

Provoked beyond belief, Finrod whirled on him, letting the Nauglamír drop to the ground with a heavy clang. “ _Enough_.”

“Oooh, fair Felagund is in a twist, how novel!” Celegorm’s delight was evident, and only cut off when Finrod seized a goblet from the end table next to him and hurled it across the room. Celegorm’s glee turned into pained shock as the goblet struck him in the face. “Shitting Ainur, _fuck damn_.” His cursing continued as he wiped a hand over his face, a hand that came away bloody.

Finrod swallowed his own surprise – he’d only meant to hit Celegorm in the shoulder – and affected a haughty look. “I’ve told you not to underestimate me.”

Celegorm shot him a look. “That was bold, Felagund.” He rolled to his feet and stalked across the room, and Finrod was made suddenly aware of what a fawn must feel like when being hunted by a wolf. Celegorm drew close, his hulking form accentuated by his bruised face and by the way he licked the blood from his lips as he approached. “That was _unnecessary_ , Felagund.”

“So say you,” said Finrod, refusing to back down. “Others might say it was long since due.”

“They might,” agreed Celegorm, and then his hands were wrapped tightly around Finrod’s arm.

Finrod couldn’t stop himself from flinching. “What – ”

Celegorm was running his fingers critically over Finrod’s forearm. “That was an impressive throw. Perfect aim, and a decent amount of power behind it. Have you been deceiving me, cousin? Are you stronger than you appear, in your fine silks and gems?”

Finrod tried to pull his arm away. “Let go.”

Celegorm moved his hand up Finrod’s arm to wrap around his bicep. “There is muscle here, Felagund! Do you practice archery on the sly? Do you have a weight regimen? Tell me about it. What sort of weights do you train with?”

Finrod tried not to shiver. Celegorm’s hands were very strong and very gentle as they moved carefully up and down his arm. He raised his eyes in time to see Celegorm run his tongue over his lips, still bloody. Finrod felt flustered, for at least the third time that night.

“What a unique portrait this is,” a wry voice came from behind them, and this time Finrod did jump, and whipped around. A lean figure unfolded from the shadows, and Curufin came forward from where he had been reclining in a chair just outside of the circle of light from the fire. He was impeccably dressed in his usual dark grey, high-collared robes, his hair braided back from his face, with an inscrutable smile on his lips.

Celegorm looked up at him, his hands still on Finrod’s arm, and his eyes sparkled. “You certainly took your time springing to my defense, brother.”

“It was more interesting to watch how events unfolded,” said Curufin, and then he was at Finrod’s shoulder, his breath on the back of Finrod’s neck. He stooped briefly to retrieve the Nauglamír and examined it for a moment before sweeping Finrod’s hair to the side and laying the necklace against his collarbones. He fastened the clasp, fastidiously removed a last stray dog hair, and then glanced over at his brother. “I agree that it suited the hound better.”

Finrod wrenched himself free and stepped back, but Curufin had put out an arm, catching him at the waist. “Don’t flee, my lord, I have never related to you more! How often have I longed to throw something into my brother’s insouciant face… Why, I quite respect the instinct.”

“Your loyalty,” said Celegorm, snidely, “is touching, as always.” He stepped away from them both and strode back to the fire, unlacing his tunic and pulling it over his head. He used it to wipe the last of the blood from his face, and Finrod realized he was staring, caught by the way the flickering light threw into relief the muscles of Celegorm’s broad back.

“He is striking, isn’t he,” murmured Curufin, at his ear. “Very fair is my brother, they say.” Long fingers plucked at Finrod’s hair before smoothing once more over the Nauglamír. “Less fair when he has been struck in the mouth with a goblet. _My_ goblet, in fact.” His mouth was practically at Finrod’s ear, and Finrod held himself very still. “While I can commiserate with the urge to do my brother damage,” Curufin whispered, his breath making goose bumps rise on Finrod’s skin, “I must give you fair warning, cousin.” Suddenly the Nauglamír was tight around Finrod’s throat, Curufin’s fingers fisting in it and pulling it flush to his skin. Finrod gasped, and Curufin’s voice dropped into deep chill. “Only _I_ am allowed to do him harm. And if you mar him again, well, then I will have no choice but to kill you.”

“Noted,” said Finrod, and pulled away. Refusing to give Curufin the satisfaction of seeing him rattled, he did not turn to see if Celegorm watched him leave, but he could feel Curufin’s eyes between his shoulder blades as he stalked from the room. He touched his throat, once, feeling where the gems had pressed into his skin, and when he arrived at his own chambers, he sent Edrahil from his door.

He had a feeling he would not want to be overheard that night.

* * *

Alone in his rooms, Finrod stripped to the waist and washed himself from the basin on the sideboard, running a damp cloth over his arms and chest, and raising his eyes to look in the mirror. He could see where the silhouette of the Nauglamír was traced in faint bruises around his throat. He had the necklace itself hanging from its stand, and after he dropped the cloth back into the basin, he reached up to bind back his hair. He pulled the golden fall of his hair over one shoulder, watching his fingers in the mirror, remembering how often he had done this in his youth. These days, well aware that his hair was one of his most distracting features, he kept it unbound whenever possible, occasionally woven with bright gems or small, intricate braids - never anything as simple as this. The plait was almost to his waist when something made him pause. Still hunting for something with which to tie off his braid, he gestured at the presence at his door, saying, “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”  


Someone padded up behind him, and Finrod made a show of hunting for a tie, without actually taking in anything on the bureau before him.

“Many have lived to regret inviting me to make myself comfortable.”

“And many have not had such good fortune.” Finrod let his braid fall back over his shoulder unsecured. He could hear Celegorm’s breath, and he could feel the warmth of his proximity as his cousin approached him and laid broad hands to his waist.

“You should know that I have never admired you,” Celegorm murmured, running his hand up Finrod’s waist to his ribcage. “I have never found you fair.”

Finrod looked down, examining his nails. He wore a ring on his right index finger, and he thought broodingly of the cut it would open up on Celegorm’s handsome face. This reminded him of the damage he had done to Celegorm’s face earlier, and he glanced into the mirror. He could see Celegorm standing behind him, lips close to his bare shoulder. A bruise had started over his mouth, swollen and discolored, pulling his lips into a pout. Finrod couldn’t help smiling at the sight.

“Bitch,” muttered Celegorm, and Finrod actually laughed as Celegorm pulled him back sharply against his chest.

“Don’t stop now,” said Finrod, as Celegorm’s hands slid up his stomach and pressed lightly into his flesh. “You were just telling me how little you admired me, and how un-comely you find me.”

“It is true.” Celegorm’s lips found Finrod’s ear and mouthed at the lobe. “You are quite mundane looking, flimsy and spare, no fire, no intensity, no _force_ …” His tongue traced a line from Finrod’s ear to his jaw to his throat, and then he was pressing his mouth to Finrod’s neck, sucking at the skin greedily. “Or so I thought.”

Finrod let his head fall to the side, baring more skin for Celegorm’s mouth. “Clearly I should assail you more often.”

“Yes,” Celegorm agreed. “Though of course,” his teeth nipped at Finrod’s skin, “then you’d risk incurring my brother’s wrath.”

Finrod flicked a smile across his face. “You are not the only one drawn to rage, cousin.”

Celegorm shook his head. “Sometimes it as if you speak with his voice. You two are too alike for any man’s comfort.” Celegorm pulled Finrod around so they were face to face, his arms around Finrod’s waist. Finrod looked down at him from the slight advantage his height gave him, and raised his fingers to Celegorm’s chin, tipping his head back so he could study Celegorm’s mouth.

“I can say with some certainty that neither I nor your brother exist for any man’s comfort,” he said, running his finger over Celegorm’s lower lip.

Celegorm laughed. “That is not what I have heard!”

“Bitch,” said Finrod, and kissed Celegorm, pressing his lips vengefully to Celegorm’s bruised mouth until he could taste blood.

Celegorm laughed through the kiss, laughed through the doubtless sting of Finrod’s tongue against the reopened cut, and let his hands slide down Finrod’s hips to settle on his buttocks. “Like living dangerously, do you?” he breathed, when Finrod allowed him to speak again.

“You are no danger to me.” Finrod pushed Celegorm’s hair back from his face, letting his fingers pull at the long pale strands. Celegorm tightened his grip on Finrod’s ass and turned his head into Finrod’s hand, seeming to enjoy Finrod’s fingers against his scalp.

“Maybe not,” he said, “but _he_ is.”

Finrod became aware suddenly of another presence in his room; had maybe been aware of it all along. Still holding Celegorm’s face between his hands, leaning forward to lick the blood from Celegorm’s mouth, Finrod said, “Glad you could join us, Curufinwë.”

“By all means, don’t stop on my behalf,” said Curufin silkily. He crossed to the high-backed armchair beside Finrod’s bed and arranged himself in it, resting his right ankle on the opposite knee and leaning a hand against his lips as he watched Finrod and Celegorm.

“I wasn’t planning to. Are you going to threaten me again?”

“Yes, Curvo,” Celegorm was laughing again as he pulled Finrod’s hips snug against his. “Are you going to take his pitiful life for further disrupting the symmetry of my face?”

“Maybe later.”

“Oh good, so there’s something to look forward to.” Finrod kissed Celegorm again, slower now and with less violence, ostentatiously licking into his mouth and tilting his head back, thumbs pressed to the pulse point in Celegorm’s throat, until he could feel Celegorm’s heart speed up and Celegorm moaned into his mouth. He didn’t look over, but he could hear Curufin shift in his chair.

“Bloody tease,” muttered Celegorm, and then Finrod found himself being lifted, Celegorm’s arms sliding under his hips and holding him easily, carrying him over to the bed. Finrod automatically locked his legs around Celegorm’s waist as Celegorm dropped him to the coverlet, shrugged free of his tunic, and bent down over him to claim another kiss. He heard an intake of breath from the chair by the bed, but resisted the urge to look over. Finrod started to let his legs part further, hips canting up to rub against Celegorm’s groin, and then, abruptly, he stopped.

“Going stiff on me?” Celegorm grinned, starting to pull at the laces of Finrod’s breeches. “Come, where’s my pliable beauty?”

Finrod narrowed his eyes and pushed himself upright. This brought him and Celegorm hip to hip and groin to groin, and Celegorm made a satisfied noise that was cut off as Finrod surged up, grabbed him by the shoulders, and flipped him around, all in one motion.

“Oof,” grunted Celegorm, as he was pressed chest-down against the mattress. “Is this for calling you pliable? It was meant as a compliment, cousin, your flexibility is legendary – _ah_.” He broke off with a hiss as Finrod planted a hand in the middle of his back and forced him down, his hair coming loose of its unbound braid and falling over his shoulders. Holding his cousin still with the weight of his body against Celegorm’s backside, Finrod reached back and tied his hair into a messy knot at the back of his head before running one of his hands once again up Celegorm’s back. His hand knotted in Celegorm’s own pale hair, and jerked his head back, so that Celegorm hissed and swore again.

“In a mood tonight, are you?” Celegorm sounded breathless, but far from being deterred, he sounded excited. Sure enough, when Finrod ran his other hand along Celegorm’s waistband to the front of his breeches, forcing his way inside, he found his cousin eager indeed.

“Hmmm,” Curufin purred. He had both feet planted on the ground now, and was leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Not what I had in mind for the night, but an intriguing reversal…”

Finrod jerked Celegorm’s breeches down and cast a look over at Curufin. “What you had in mind? Are you going to pass this off as your plan all along?” Unexpected tension was making his voice sharp and mocking, and Celegorm laughed at the sound.

“Ahh, Curvo,” he murmured, and grunted as Finrod pulled his hair again. “He may be your match tonight….”

“Don’t be silly,” said Curufin, his hands smoothing over his thighs. “The lord of Nargothrond is no match for me.”

“King,” said Finrod, and snapped his fingers at Curufin.

“What?”

“That’s _king_ of Nargothrond, and if you’re going to sit there doing nothing, you might as well make yourself useful.” He clicked his fingers again. “Pass me the oil – it’s the glass vial on the bedside table. Unless, of course, you would prefer I take your brother without it.”

Curufin seemed to be mulling this.

Celegorm, pressed down to the blankets, seemed nonchalant enough, even with his backside bare and exposed, and settled his chin on his folded arms. “After all that talk about no one being allowed to do me harm, you would let him enter me dry?” he said conversationally. “You are maddeningly inconsistent.”

“The key distinction was that no one but _me_ gets to do you harm.” Curufin tilted his head. “If it is at my word and through one of my tools, then – ”

“Arrogant,” growled Finrod. “I do nothing by your command or refusal, and I am no one's tool. Pass me the damned oil, you playacting snake.”

“Go on, pass it to him.” Celegorm pressed his hips back to rub against the bulge in Finrod’s breeches. “It’s been a while for me, you know that, Curvo. I wouldn’t mind something to ease the way.”

It was the way Curufin nodded, acknowledging he was quite aware of how long it had been since his brother had been taken by another, that made Finrod’s patience evaporate. Heat flooding him with an urgency that refused to be ignored, he freed himself from his beeches, and then caught the crystal vial Curufin had finally conceded to toss him.

He slicked himself well and pressed a finger into Celegorm perfunctorily, but didn’t bother to prepare him further.

Celegorm groaned as Finrod’s finger breached him, and then swore as Finrod withdrew the finger and set his cock against Celegorm’s entrance. “Just like that? Ai, you _are_ a heartless bitch, Felagund, careless indeed with your lovers…”

“With my _lovers_ ,” Finrod murmured, “I am very gentle.” And he pushed into Celegorm in a single brutal thrust.

“Balls of Morgoth,” swore Celegorm, rising up on his forearms to steady himself. “Wolves mount each other with more grace.”

“Do you wish for me to stop?” breathed Finrod, sliding a hand down Celegorm’s muscular thigh. Celegorm was so tight around him it was almost painful, but he half suspected he wouldn’t be able to stop if he wanted to. He rocked his hips experimentally, and Celegorm moaned so low and long that Finrod laughed. “I take that as a no.”

A hand came up and clutched at his hip, nails digging into his skin. “That’s a no,” said Celegorm through gritted teeth. “Keep fucking me.”

From the chair came a long intake of breath, and a shifting of silks as Curufin leaned back, his silver eyes glittering in the low light. Finrod could sense his excitement, his arousal as heavy on the air as the lightly scented smoke from Finrod’s fire. He wanted to glance over, to see if Curufin had loosened his clothes - undone his high collar or perhaps slipped a hand down the front of his breeches - but he felt sure that Curufin, however eager, would be as covered and clasped as ever.

To keep from giving his cousin the satisfaction of knowing he was looking, Finrod fixed his eyes resolutely on Celegorm’s gleaming back, and gripped his hips harder, settling into a steady, exacting rhythm. There was a long scar between Celegorm’s shoulder blades, one that only just missed his spine and traced a line almost parallel to the ridges of his backbone. It was too clean to be the claw of some ravening beast, and Finrod found himself wondering whether it had been gained in battle against Morgoth, or on the shores of Alqualondë. For a moment, his vision swam, past tainting present, and he saw the bloody sands, saw Celegorm’s harsh face, painted with gore, his pale hair as red as his brother’s, stained with the blood of Finrod’s mother’s people. Finrod felt a sudden rush of revulsion and bent forward, his head swimming, trying to rein in his nausea.

“Do you not have the stomach to keep going?” Curufin was watching him with knowing, dispassionate eyes.

Celegorm groaned and shoved himself back against Finrod. “You dare go soft on me and I will eat you alive, Felagund.”

Finrod closed his eyes and tried to seal out their voices, only to realize that this made the dull roar in his head all the clearer. _The screaming of gulls, no, not gulls, children…_

“Finrod.”

_They are killing us!_

_A blade, a blade in his sister’s hand, as she threw herself against the attackers. His own fingers scrabbling uselessly in the bloody sand for something he could use as a weapon, anything to drive them back, to fight –_

“Findaráto!”

“No,” he growled, and dug his nails in.

Celegorm yelped and dropped his head down against his forearms.

“Close your mind,” said Curufin softly.

**_Are you going to let them get away with this?_ **

_She was screaming at him as he tried to hold her back from the ships, already setting sail. Her hands clawed bloody streaks against his arms, and the gulls, the gulls –_

“Findaráto.” A strong hand caught his chin, and Finrod gasped aloud, half sobbing, and looked up into Curufin’s eyes. He had crossed the room without Finrod noticing, and was now kneeling on the bed beside him. “Close your mind,” said Curufin, his voice almost gentle. “Come back to us.”

“I don’t want to come back to you,” whispered Finrod. “ _Traitor_ – ”

“Yes, I know.” Curufin leaned forward and pressed his lips against Finrod’s, and tears rolled down Finrod’s cheeks. Then Curufin slapped him, and Finrod’s eyes snapped open. “Pull yourself together, son of Arafinwë,” said Curufin coolly, the imprint of his hand burning on Finrod’s cheek. “Focus on the task before you.”

“Yes, thank you,” grumbled Celegorm. He reached forward to grab Curufin by the belt and haul him close, and Curufin grinned, looking down at his brother.

“Feeling neglected, beast?” He stroked Celegorm’s cheek, and Celegorm caught his hand.

“Perhaps a bit.” Celegorm kissed Curufin’s hand and then leaned forward to nuzzle against the crease of Curufin’s thigh. “But you would be amazed, brother – his vigor has not slackened in the least.”

Curufin wound a hand into Celegorm’s hair as Celegorm pressed his open mouth against his breeches. “Our king is full of surprises,” Curufin purred, never taking his eyes from Finrod’s face. “Yes, that’s right,” he murmured, taking Finrod’s chin between his fingers again and pulling him into a deep kiss, bent forward over Celegorm's back. “ _King._ King. My king, my cousin, my savage beauty, Ingoldo…”

In Curufin’s lips, Finrod found the distraction he needed. In Celegorm’s tight heat, he found the pleasure he sought.

He came without warning, and his fingers dug deep into Celegorm’s sides. Celegorm gasped, and then let out a hoarse moan, and turned his face against Curufin’s thigh. Curufin whispered something, his fingers twisting in Celegorm’s hair, and Celegorm pressed his tongue to Curufin’s groin.

Finrod kept himself from collapsing by sheer force of will, and by the fact of Curufin’s hand curling against his cheek, keeping his head up. Celegorm spat an oath as he came in turn, and Finrod registered the stain on his coverlet dully.

“I should send the cleaning bill to you,” he murmured, and then let himself slump against Celegorm’s back.

“As if we have more gold than you,” said Celegorm, and rolled over, shoving Finrod away from him. “There are dragons with hoards smaller than yours.”

Finrod ignored him, throwing himself back against the pillows of his bed and curling up. He watched Curufin bend to whisper in Celegorm’s ear, his lips lingering over the curve of his brother’s ear. Celegorm’s mouth had been busy even though Curufin had never shed a single article of clothing, but Finrod could not tell if his cousin had reached his release. Curufin cuffed Celegorm lightly, then kissed him, then settled down on the bed next to Finrod.

“Are you content, cousin?”

“No,” said Finrod, staring into the distance.

Curufin rolled closer to him and rested his head against Finrod’s shoulder. Absently, Finrod raised a hand and played with Curufin’s braid.

“You are never satisfied,” Curufin murmured. “No matter what contentment you affect.” He kissed Finrod’s cheek. “It is what I like best about you.”

Celegorm, who had been turning restlessly on the foot of the bed, finally curled up, his head in Curufin’s lap, and Curufin stroked his hair.

“Neither of you is ever content,” Celegorm muttered. “It is the best and worst of you both.”

There was a silence then, though Finrod suspected that Curufin might be saying things he couldn’t hear as he petted his brother’s hair and Celegorm sighed, pressing his head to Curufin’s stomach.

“I am my worst with you,” said Finrod, into the silence

“But your truest,” said Curufin, and Finrod closed his eyes, knowing the truth when he hear it.

 

 


End file.
